


Partita Number One

by PrancingProngsy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Is it even sheriarty if only one chapter was the thing?, M/M, Sheriarty - Freeform, Sherlock Holmes & Jim Moriarty - Freeform, Stream of conscious, What even?, disappointed Jim is disappointed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 07:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrancingProngsy/pseuds/PrancingProngsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A more indepth look at Jim Moriarty's thoughts during his conversation with Sherlock atop Bart's rooftop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rooftop Woes

The tin-can sound of The Bee Gees' "Stayin' Alive" filled the air. Jim clutched the phone in his hand though perhaps clutch is not the right term. He held it loosely over the edge of the roof as he waited for his opponent. This, he thought, this was it. This was their final problem and this is when they were both going to die. Jim had planned this from the beginning. He knew. He'd sent months aside dedicated to setting up his other persona, Richard Brook, he'd spent hours recording video and visiting with clients, and bribing people. This was their big send off. It was only fair, wasn't it? To be honest, Sherlock didn't even deserve this kind of send off. He was only ordinary. Jim was just frustrated that it'd taken him this long to figure it out. He licked his lips.

The door across from him eased open and there in the doorway, shrouded in his long coat and scarf, stood Sherlock. His heart was thundering in his ears. They were so close now. Jim was so close to finding... Peace, perhaps. The chorus begins to play. Jim doesn't even shoot Sherlock an acknowledging look he simply began speaking. This was it. Their moments of truth.

"Ah. Here we are at last- you and me, Sherlock, and our problem. Our final problem...." Jim tilted his phone a bit, "Stayin' alive! It's so... boring isn't it?!" with a click, Jim shut his phone off and passed it to his other hand. This. This was it, wasn't it? They were both so close. He could taste their mortality on his lips. "It's just...." drawing his hand through the air he finished with a resigned, "Staying...." before his hand moved to cover his face. Perhaps if he didn't look at Sherlock, if they didn't meet eyes... No. No Jim's resigned. This... This is it. He'd thought long and hard about it. This was the day. Even if Sherlock wasn't exactly worth it anymore. Even if he was.... Boring.  
Sherlock's moving. He's not saying a word but Jim's tracking him. Sherlock wouldn't hurt him, he wouldn't kill him. That would be... Out of character. No. He was safe. That didn't make the weight of the gun in his pocket any less comforting, any less... There. It served as a reminder he supposed. This is what he was here for. Jim licked his lips quietly and passed his hand from his face before he spoke again,

"All my life I've been searching for distractions..." Was this rehearsed? Perhaps. Jim had so much he wanted to say. So much they had to do, but such a very short time to do it in. And Jim wasn't about to let Sherlock commit suicide without hearing him first, "You were the best distraction and now I don't even have you. Because I've beaten you...." Jim had Sherlock's attention now. Sherlock didn't think he'd been beaten. That was the beauty of it. So ordinary. Ordinary Sherlock, oblivious and stupid. "And you know what? In the end... It was easy," Jim dropped his head to his hand again, rubbing at his eyes for a moment, "Oh well..."

And now. Now they lock eyes. Now Jim's able to stare into the cold orbs that stare at him cooly from across the rooftop. Forgive him if he smirked a little. It was too easy. Too easy. It almost wasn't any fun anymore. But the fact that Sherlock still felt like he had an out was just so entertaining.... And that look of surprise on his face.... A smirk was very apparent on his face now as Jim continued, "Did you almost start to wonder if I was real? Did I nearly get you?"

"Richard Brook."

Those were the first words that Sherlock uttered. Glorious. Jim was moving around him now. Circling. Like a shark. If he played his cards right... If he didn't fuck it up, if Sherlock was as ordinary as he acted, perhaps that gun, that little bit of insurance, wouldn't be necessary. Was it bad that he kind of was hoping that it didn't turn south? He liked this. He liked his little network. He liked the power it gave him.

"Nobody seems to get the joke, but you do."

"Of course."

"Attaboy." Of course Sherlock got it. He wasn't stupid. He might be ordinary but he wasn't stupid. And that, is why Jim liked him. Jim paced, eyeing Sherlock quietly. Drinking him in. This. This was the last time he'd ever be seeing him. Wasn't it. This was the time to actually catalogue all the little things about Sherlock. The way his fingers were held behind his back, the dark curls, the way they framed his face. Coat blowing gently in the breeze. This would be the last time.

"Richard Brook in German is Reichen Bach. The case that made my name..."

"Just tryin' tah have some fun..." A shark. Perhaps that was what Jim was. As he continued to move around him, he noticed. Fingers. Tapping out the rhythm he'd not so secretly given earlier. The fact that Sherlock was tapping it out now, telling him they were on the same level was somewhat flattering. They weren't. Sherlock just assumed that they were. "Good. You got that too..."

"Beats like digits..." Coy. Of course they were like digits. "Every beat is a one; every rest is a zero. Binary code. That's why those assassins tried to save my life..." he was getting it now. Sherlock was finally getting it, "It was hidden on me; hidden inside my head," this was all very promising. Jim smiled as he licked his lips, listening. See what conclusion he jumped to, "A few simple lines of computer code that can break into any system."

"I told all my clients: last one to Sherlock is a sissy.."

Now Sherlock was gesturing at his head and Jim knew what was coming and he could have sworn that he'd never met someone so fucking stupid in his entire life. And to think. He wasted months of preparation on this idiot, "Yes, but now that it's up here, I can use it to alter all the records. I can kill Richard Brook and bring back Jim Moriarty."  
Jim could have sworn that his heart sunk. He stared at Sherlock for a moment as if gauging whether or not he was fucking with him. Decidedly, he wasn't. Sherlock was being completely serious. That was the disappointing part. Jim let out a long breath and shook his head, turning with a look of disappointment etched on his face. Because that is what he was, disappointed. Sherlock had gotten his hopes up. Jim was shaking his head,

"No, no , no, no, no, this is too easy!" Jim pressed his hands to his face in frustration, "This is too easy!"

This. This was why Sherlock was going to die. He didn't deserve to play with Jim. He didn't deserve to spar with him. He was too stupid. "There is no key, DOOFUS!" There he was. Sherlock was staring at him uncomprehendingly as Jim got into his face. And that killed Jim. Honestly. To think he'd been worthy. "Those digits are meaningless. They're utterly meaningless...." Who in their right mind would think that there was a code out there that could break into any system? That's the stupidest thing he'd heard all day. "You don't really think a couple of lines of computer code are going to crash the world around our ears? I'm disappointed. I'm disappointed in you..." he lowered his voice, hunched his shoulders. Mocking now. That was what he was doing. Mocking him, "Ordinary Sherlock..."

Honestly, the fact that Sherlock was so stupid was only matched by the face he was pulling at the moment. So confused. Lost. Utterly lost. Unfortunately that was the only thing that was making any of this worthwhile. Bored. Bored. Jim was always going to be bored, he thought. Wasn't he? Especially now that he didn't have anyone to play with. Sherlock was so... Ordinary that it hurt.

"But the rhythm..."

"Partia number one, thank you Johann Sebastian Bach"

"But then how did--"

"Then how did I break into the Bank, the Tower, the Prison?" That was the question wasn't it? Holy hell. Jim was still in a state of shock, really. Sherlock had to be fucking with him. There was no way he was this stupid. Not after all those crimes he solved... No. Sherlock had to be bluffing, didn't he? "Daylight robbery. All it takes is some participants." That as the point, wasn't it? To prove that it was so easy. So so easy. Jim threw his hands up, "I knew you'd fall for it. That's your weakness. You always want everything to be clever. " Took the beauty out of simplicity. Some corner of Jim's brain had been hoping that maybe Sherlock would have caught on, but to see him here, struggling to work it out, with a stupidly blank face as his mind works to try and figure it all out. Make sense of it all, "Now, shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building.. Nice way to do it."

"Do it? Do- do what?" There. That complete bewilderment. No one can fake that. Sherlock still wasn't getting it, was he? He blinked. There. Jim could see it. He was getting it. Sherlock opened his mouth, "Yes. Of course. My suicide..."

"'Genius Detective Proved To Be a Fraud.' I read it in the paper, so it must be true. I love news papers. Fairytales..." He peered over the edge for a moment, hands behind his back. "And pretty Grimm ones too..." he was proud of that. Proud of that pun. So very proud that he'd been able to play Sherlock like this. It'd be a lot more fun if he'd been foiled, stopped, but Sherlock was too ordinary for that, wasn't he?

"I can still prove that you created a false identity..."  
Sherlock was trying. Wasn't that just the cutest? He was trying to win this when it was very apparent that Jim was winning right now. Jim was so far ahead that he could see the finish line. Sherlock's dead body on the concrete, blood blossoming from his open head wound. The people gathered around him. John's face... John would be there. Of course he would.

"Oh just kill yourself already. It's a lot less effort..." Sherlock was pacing now. Jim could taste the freedom. He could taste the freedom. He could walk away from this, find someone else to entertain him. Someone more worthy of his time. Someone who could appreciate his genius. "Go on. For me." Sherlock wasn't going to do it, was he? Well that was tedious, "Pleeeeeeeeeaaase?" Sherlock was on him, holding his lapels and Jim hadn't expected that. Sherlock wouldn't throw him off, would he? No. No he was too chicken. Wasn't he? Jim studied his face. Maybe Sherlock was worthy. Would he honestly end it this way? He could. Jim wouldn't stop him. He couldn't really. He wouldn't if he could. If it would make Sherlock take that extra step... He smirked.

"You're insane..."

A simple enough statement. One that Jim whole-heartedly agreed with. "You're just getting that now?" honestly he was a bit touched. And offended. Touched that Sherlock would even address him like that with his hands clutching his lapels. Offended that it took Sherlock that long to realize that he was playing against someone like him. Now he knew he couldn't possibly win. Sherlock shoved him. No fear. No. Sherlock wasn't going to let him go, and even if he did... That would make this all so much more beautiful. He whooped, arms releasing Sherlock's, tempting him.

Push me. Push me. Go on. You can do it. Take that step. Become me. That was what he was going for, wasn't it? Sherlock held him fast and Jim gave him an almsot disappointed look,

"Okay. Let me give you a little extra incentive." There. Sherlock was caught now. He could see it. He knew Jim wasn't fucking around. "Your friends will die if you don't." Sherlock was frowning. He was scared now wasn't he? Boring. Ordinary. He didn't want the fear, he wanted the anger.

"John...."

"Not just John. Everyone."

"Mrs. Hudson..."

He lowered his voice. The fear would have to do, he supposed, "Everyone." Jim was grinning now. No way out. Had Sherlock grasped that yet? Did Sherlock understand that he was going to be dead by the end of their little chat? No? Not yet?

"Lestrade..."

"Three bullets; three gunmen; three victims. There's no stopping them now..." Ah. There. There was the anger. There it was. Just what Jim had wanted. Sherlock pulled him onto the roof roughly, clearly angry, furious perhaps. They were staring now. Locked in combat. This was a game of bluffing. And Jim was winning. The only problem is, he wasn't actually bluffing. And Sherlock knew that. And Jim could see that mind working as his dark eyes bore into Sherlock's with a delighted expression, "Unless my people see you jump."  
There. Anger. Perfect. He was breathing heavily and Jim was moving again, moving around him with a huge smile. What was Sherlock going to do?

"You can have me arrested, you can torture me, you can do anything you like with me, but there's nothing's gonna prevent them from pulling the trigger. Your only three friends in the world will die. Unless..." Jim was giving him this one. Play with me Sherlock. You're ordinary. Prove to me you're not. You're ordinary. Come. Play. Play before you--

"Unless I kill myself..."

Jim nodded. Oh yes. There was it. Just to hear the words come from Sherlock's lips. Yes. Unless he killed himself. Sherlock understood the terms now. The question was what he was going to do about it. "You've got to admit that's sexier..." Sherlock was lost now. Staring off into London's skyline.

"And I die in disgrace...."

"Of course. That's the point of this." Jim was staring over the edge. Giver Sherlock an ultimatum. Sherlock's last chance. Pick the once choice that isn't there. Take something. Turn it. Be extraordinary. Capture his attention again. That was all. Entertain me. "Oh... You've got an audience now. Off you pop. Go on." He twisted. Sherlock wasn't going to do it. Was he? Oh-- Oh he was on the ledge. Oh that's so disappointing. Jim's face fell just a bit. He'd expected so much more from him. "I told you how this ends..." he murmured.  
Sherlock was prepping to jump. There. He was breathing heavily. Jim was becoming more and more disappointed. At least he could play with someone else now. He expected so much more from the great Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps he was ordinary after all. "Your death is the only thing that's going to call off the killers. I'm certainly not going to do it...." He turns. Last chance Sherlock. Come on. Play. I told them if they didn't see you jump to kill your friends. I told them that if I tell them to stop, they were to keep going. This is definite. Play. Play with me. Watch your friends die. Become me.

"Would you give me one moment please? One moment of privacy? Please?"

No? Not taking the bait? Pity. Jim turns, "Of course." He was going to watch him jump. Of course he was. If Sherlock would pull through. Jim had given him that line. That one line. Make him think he had hope. Think that maybe he could save his friends without having to die. Lies, of course, but an opportunity. And Sherlock was ordinary, wasn't he? Didn't notice. Didn't comprehend that Jim just wanted to play. And Sherlock was too damn stupid to realize this. To play with him. They both wanted to play didn't they? Before Sherlock got ordinary. Before he got boring. They were made for each other, weren't they?

Sherlock was laughing. Jim could hear it. That bit of hope still lingering in Jim's heart rekindled. Was he willing to play now? He paused as Sherlock continued to laugh. Oh yes. He'd caught it. He still thought he could win. Or perhaps he thought it once again. They were going all the way with this. Jim had a faint notion now about what was going on, how this was going to end. Sherlock was going to take the most obvious route now, but at least they'd get to spar a bit more.

"What?" no reply, more laughter. Jim turned on his heel and started making towards him, "What is it?!" Sherlock was facing him now and they were nose to nose and Sherlock was still chuckling, "What did I miss?"

"'You're not going to do it.' So the killers can be called off, then. There's a recall code, or a word or a number. ... I don't have to die..... If I've got you."

Obvious. Sherlock thought.... Well. The idea of Sherlock torturing him wasn't completely unwanted. Jim was smiling again. Perhaps he shouldn't have thrown him that particular bone. Perhaps it was the best decision of his life. The gun weighed heavily in his pocket. A cool wind blew Sherlock's curls from his face and Jim was smirking up at him,

"Oh!" he laughed. Convince me. He was begging Sherlock to convince him. Make it worth his time. "Oh you think you can make me stop the order? You think you can make me do that?" Jim was flattered. Really. He was begging Sherlock now. Prove to me that you can make me do it. And I will do it. Please. Do it. Make me believe that you can change my mind. You can do it, can't you? Don't disappoint me anymore, darling. That would ruin the point of this entire exercise. Prove to me that I'm not alone anymore and we'll continue our game. It'll be more fun this time. I have so much planned for you, darling. Prove it to me. Prove it.  
Sherlock was circling him, a glint in his eye akin to Jim's. Jim was smiling.

"Yes. So do you."

"Sherlock. Your big brother and all the king's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to..." No. No you're slipping. Come back. Prove it, handsome. Prove it. His eyes said it all. Prove to me that you're worth it. I shouldn't be giving you this chance but I am. Jim was smirking still.

Wipe that smirk off my lips. Prove to me that you've got it. That you're not ordinary.

"Yes, but I’m not my brother, remember? I am you – prepared to do anything; prepared to burn; prepared to do what ordinary people won’t do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you." No. Sherlock wouldn't disappoint him. No. Now he was talking. Jim was smiling. He shook his head. Taunt him a bit more. Bring out what he knew was in there. Make Sherlock see. Made for each other. Made for each other. That's what they were, weren't they?

"Nah. You talk big. Nah. You're ordinary. Your'e ordinary. You're on the side of the angels..." Rise to it Sherlock. Please. Prove. PROVE to me that you're worth it. Darling. I know you are. I know deep down inside....

"Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don’t think for one second that I am one of them."

Not precisely what Jim wanted to hear, but close enough. "No. You're not...." No this was how it was going to end because Sherlock failed. Somehow Jim knew that he would. Knew that he would fail to induce the fear required. Fail to become him. He wasn't willing to take that last step... Well... Jim blinked a few times, closing his eyes for a moment before he spoke again, voice soft, gentle, coaxing perhaps, "I see. You're not ordinary. No... You're me." Might as well tell him while he had time. Jim drank him in one last time. Fingers locking around the gun in his pocket. Yes. This was the only way now. Sherlock had failed and Jim had nothing anymore. No fun. No one to play with. Just.... Not even Sherlock. "You're me! Thank you."

All Jim has is this. He moved to embrace Sherlock. A last farewell. But no. He stopped himself. That would give everything away, wouldn't it? He held out his hand instead, a wide smile on his lips once more as he dipped his head just a bit. "Sherlock Holmes..." Sherlock grasped his hand. Jim was nodding now. He knew what he had to do. Sherlock wasn't worthy. He'd proved that definitively now. He wasn't willing to take that step. And he never, would be. Jim wasn't going to wait around. He wasn't going to waste his talents. He wasn't going to let Sherlock win this round when he didn't deserve it in the least, "Thank you... Bless you."

Jim was staring at his shoes. Nice shoes. Thank god he'd worn a nice suit. It'd be a pity to die in something as unattractive as that horrid purple cardigan. He licked his lips, "As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends. You've got a way out....." Not yet. Jim... you planned this. You knew it would come to this. That's why it's a backup plan. He took silent deep breath. Breathing in through his nose. "Well..." He was going all the way. No turning back now. No way. This was it. And honestly... Jim brought his gaze to Sherlock's again, swiftly pulling the gun out, "Good luck with that!" he cried. Honestly, he was glad it came to this. He was tired of being bored. Tired of feeling so... Lonely. And Sherlock was just as boring as everyone else and if someone like Sherlock can hold his attention for so long only to prove that he was, in fact, as boring and dull as everyone else on the planet, Jim wasn't so sure the world was ready for him just yet. He fit the muzzle between his lips as Sherlock pulled away, their hands separating.

Honestly. The dark was welcoming. And Jim's last sight was Sherlock's horrified face. Being able to see that face before he blew his brains out was like giving Jim his dying wish. He grinned maniacally. There was a bang.

And Jim knew no more.


	2. One For The Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contemplation after Sherlock Holmes falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone put a thing in my inbox. I expounded. Sometimes I Sheriarty.

London was always so much more interesting at night. At least Jim thought so. The window was cracked just enough so the smoke from the cigarette didn’t disturb the sleeping form on the bed behind him. The cool breeze ghosted over his chest like a fading memory, like this would be, he thought. Goose flesh broke over his arms and legs, naked except for a mostly unbuttoned dark purple shirt that hung loosely over his shoulders.

Moriarty knew better than most. Moments like this didn’t last. Especially not for people like him.

The soft murmuring of a sleeping Sherlock were just barely heard as the steam from his cup of tea twisted and escaped into the night air. The soft smile on Jim’s lips was almost pensive. He blew across the cup and took a sip of his tea, tossing the cigarette butt to the sidewalk before he closed the window. He tipped his head to the side, watching cars and people pass, the sickly glow from the streetlamps casting glare on the window pane.

The shifting of sheets drew Moriarty’s attention to the bed for a brief moment. The question remained. Did he stay, or did he go? Things like this weren’t supposed to happen too often, and while Jim absolutely relished them he was under the impression that Sherlock thought of them as nothing more than stimulant.

Sex rarely meant anything to either of them. It felt good, it distracted, and released endorphins that were almost as addictive as any other substance they both consumed, or used to in any case, to ease the stress and relieve boredom. With Sherlock it was always fire. Angry. Spurred by the need to best the other, to tangle together in the most intimate way and come away unscathed. It was almost a game, really. Most of their interactions were games. They were equals, clinging to each other for satisfaction, relief and distraction. They both seemed to deliver.

Jim half wished he hadn’t gotten rid of his cigarette yet.

The consulting criminal’s tongue wet his lips for a moment and he blew on his tea again before taking one last sip. He left it on the window sill, still steaming as he made his way over to the bed. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that it could ever mean much of anything to Sherlock apart from a sparring match of a much more satisfactory (at least physically) nature. It honestly shouldn’t mean much of anything to him either, but the sight of Sherlock sleeping quite peacefully seemed like something that someone who was merely a nemesis and someone to fuck when the boredom was particularly suffocating, should be able to see.

It seemed sacred.

“Oh Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock…” Jim murmured quietly, almost wishing that Sherlock would wake up just to say goodbye. The whole illusion would be lost, he thought, if they woke up in the same bed, surrounded by reminders of the night previous. His hand snaked behind his neck and he pressed a soft kiss, tender perhaps, to his forehead before slipping on his clothes and leaving almost without a trace.

One day, perhaps, when they weren’t so hellbent on completely destroying each other, they could explore other possibilities. Beekeeping, perhaps. A different kind of relationship. It was a nice thought, really but Jim wasn’t stupid enough to entertain it for long. Jim finished buttoning Sherlock’s shirt up and hung the tie around his neck as he pulled his coat on. The white plumes that left his lips caused by his own breath this time, not cigarettes was almost disconcerting. Chilly night…

Moriarty’s footsteps echoed between the buildings as he made his way down the pavement towards home and the dark streets of London swallowed him up like a ghost, leaving not a trace behind him.


	3. In The Beginning

He’d read that it was very hard. Killing people. Respectfully, of course, Jim disagreed. All of the people talking about it, saying that it was hard, were veterans, people that valued life. People that weren’t…. Well they weren’t him.

Carl Powers was the first. Jim wasn’t sure what made him feel so goddamn accomplished about it, but whatever it was… Jim liked it. Of course he did. The ability to hold the delicate life or death balance in your hand is something that he never wanted to give up.

Her name was Chase.

“James,” she said, “James, you know you really should talk to more people. You’re a nice boy, James.” Clearly she knew nothing, “James, you should stop playing with dead birds. Normal little boys don’t do that. I don’t see Brandon playing with dead birds…” She treated him like a child. Perhaps at the time, he was, but not… He wasn’t to be babied. “James, darling, don’t you know that if you shove them back, you’ll just wind up more hurt? Come now, James, don’t you see that no one likes freaks? James, honey, you’re just as smart as everyone else, keep your mouth shut if you don’t want to get picked on.”

Over.

And over.

And over.

Whatever she said, Jim would scowl. Jim would stare, he’d pretend like he didn’t hear her. But she gnawed at him. She wasn’t Carl Powers, but she could be.

Mummy said it was because she fancied him. Mummy said that he was fourteen now, that he should be getting interested in girls. Or people at all really. L I E S .

Chase was almost insultingly easy to kill.

Asthma. No one suspected a thing.

Sometimes Jim liked to dwell on it. It’s a fond memory. The hardest part was stealing her inhaler. And even that… Jim was a skilled pickpocket. He had been for several years. Sneaky, that’s what he called himself, sneaky. Getting the ricin was the easiest part. Buying it, storing it in a little container… Keeping it for when he had the most opportune moment. 

Moriarty spent a good deal of time in the boys bathroom. It wasn’t hard to nick her inhaler and make for the bathroom. It was normal for him. It was a nice escape. A place he could go to have a cigarette and complain to the empty stalls about the stupid, boring people he had to put up with. The last stall was his favourite. It was the biggest, typically the cleanest. He squirreled himself away, inhaler in hand. The switch, well, the addition in any case, was easy. It looked exactly the same. A bit of ricin, set to be inhaled the next time she had an asthma attack.

“You dropped this…” he said softly, holding the inhaler out to her, she smiled, took it and told him to fuck off. She knew she’d dropped it. Of course she did. Jim offered a soft smile and shrunk in on himself as he was prone to do. Soon, he thought. he’d be dead and he’d be free.

He could make a career out of this, he thought.

The obituary was short and sweet:

"Chase Magahn, age 15, died on Monday Feburary 10th, due to natural causes. After a hard fought fight with a particularly dangerous strain of the flu, Chase's life was brought to a close when an asthma attack was left untreated. The family mourns the passing of it's youngest daughter. The wake will be held on February 15th at 17:00 in the Magahn's home. All are welcome."

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, now that I've finished it, I feel like I could start a small story out of this. Hm. I'm checking the multiple chapters thing anyway. Sue me.


End file.
